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LIBRARY 

OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


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BOOiCBEM-CRd 
2C  N.  »I-  DOflADO  8T, 


BIGGS'S    BAR 


By  the  same  author 

JACINTA:    AN    IDYLL 

Price,  75  cents 


B  I  G  G  S'S    BAR 


And  Other  Klondyke  Ballads 


BY 
HOWARD   V.  SUTHERLAND 


DREXEL   BIDDLE.  PUBLISHER 

PHILADELPHIA  LONDON 

SAN  FRANCISCO  TORONTO 

igoi 


^fNERAL 


Copyright,  1901 
By  ANTHONY.  J.  DR^XKI.  BIDDI.K 


TO 

JOHN    M.    VER    MEHR 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
BEANS  AND  BACON  DAYS 


125513 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/biggssbarotherklOOsuthrich 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

BiGGs's  Bar 9 

The  Che-cha-ko 16 

Our  Stove 18 

The  Sorrows  of  Hairy  Dick 22 

Omar  in  the  Klondyke 26 

A  Klondyke  Love  Song       .     .     .     .     .     .     .29 

The  Dawson  City  Band 31 

The  Klondyke  Mosquito 38 

A  Miner's  Chief  Thought 41 

Pimply  Pete 42 

The  Last  Sack  of  Flour  .......  45 

How  Willie  Learned  to  Swear      ....  46 

The  Yukon  Pioneer 51 

vii 


Contents 

PAGE 

That  First  Flapjack 54 

Sour  Grapes 60 

Appreciation  in  Dawson 62 

In  Winter 67 

Cooking  in  the  Klondyke 69 

Bill  McGee 71 


viii 


BIGGS'S    BAR 

J*-  I  ^WAS  a  sultry  afternoon,  about  the  middle  of 

1        July, 
And  the  men  who  loafed  in   Dawson  were  feeling 

very  dry. 
Of  liquor  there  had  long  been  none  except  a  barrel 

or  two, 
And  that  was  kept  by  Major  Walsh  for  himself  and  a 

lucky  few. 

Now,  the  men  who  loaf  in  Dawson  are  loafers  to  the 

bone, 
And  take  it  easy  in  a  way  peculiarly  their  own ; 
They  sit  upon  the  sidewalks  and  smoke  and  spit  and 

chew, 
And  watch  the  other  loafers,  and  wonder  who  is 

who. 

9 


Klondyke  Ballads 

They  only  work  in  winter,  when  the  days  are  short 

and  cold, 
And  then  they  heat  their  cabins,  and  talk  and  talk  of 

gold ; 
They  talk  about  provisions,   and  sometimes  take  a 

walk, 
But  then  they  hurry  back  again  and  talk,  and  talk, 

and  talk. 

And  the  men  who  loaf  in  Dawson  are  superior  to 

style. 
For  the  man  who  wears  a  coat  and  vest  is  apt  to  cause 

a  smile ; 
While  he  who  sports  suspenders  or  a  belt  would  be  a 

butt. 
And  cause  ironic  comment,  and  end  by  being  cut. 

The  afternoon  was  sultry,  as  I  said  some  time  before ; 
'Twas  fully  ninety  in  the  shade  (in  the  sun  a  darn 

sight  more), 
And  the  men  who  sat  on  the  sidewalks  were,  one  and 

all,  so  dry 
That  only  one  perspired,  though  every  one  did  try. 

lO 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Six  men  were  sitting  in  a  line  and  praying  God  for  air ; 
They  were  Joaquin  Miller  and   **  Lumber*'  Lynch 

and  '*  Stogey  ''  Jack  Ver  Mehr, 
''  Swift-water ''  Bill  and  ''  Caribou  "  Bill  and  a  sick 

man  from  the  hills, 
Who  came  to  town  to  swap  his  dust  for  a  box  of  liver 

pills. 

I  said  they  prayed  for  air,  and  yet  perhaps  I  tell  a  lie, 
For  none  of  them  are  holy  men,  and  all  of  them 

were  dry ; 
And  so  I  guess  'tis  best  for  me  to  say  just  what  I 

think — 
They  prayed  the  Lord  to  pity  them  and  send  them 

all  a  drink. 

Then  up  spoke  Joaquin  Miller,  as  he  shook  his  golden 

locks. 
And  picked  the  Dawson  splinters  from  his  moccasins 

and  socks 
(The  others  paid  attention,  for  when  times  are  out 

of  joint 
What  Joaquin  Miller  utters  is  always  to  the  point)  : 
II 


Klondyke  Ballads 

*'A    foot-sore,    weary    traveller,"    the    Poet    then 

began, 
'*  Did  tell  me  many  moons  ago, — and  oh  !  I  loved 

the  man, — 
That   Biggs  who  owns   the   claim   next   mine   had 

started  up  a  bar. 
Let's  wander  there  and  quench  our  thirst."     All 

answered,  '*  Right  you  are." 

Now,  Biggs  is  on  Bonanza  Creek,  claim  ninety-six, 

below ; 
There  may  be  millions  in  it,  and  there  may  not; 

none  will  know 
Until  he  gets  to  bedrock  or  till  bedrock  comes  to 

him — 
For   Arthur    takes  it   easy  and   is  strictly   in   the 

swim. 

It  is  true,  behind  his  cabin  he  has  sunk  a  mighty 

shaft 
(When  the  husky  miners  saw  it  they  turned  aside 

and  laughed)  ; 

12 


Klondyke  Ballads 

But  Biggs  enjoys  his  bacon,  and  smokes  his  pipe  and 

sings, 
Content  to  be  enrolled  among  the  great   Bonanza 

Kings. 

*Tis  full  three  miles  from  Dawson  town  to  Biggs' s 

little  claim ; 
The  miners*  curses  on  the  trail  would  make  you  blush 

with  shame 
The  while  they  slip,  or  stub  their  toes  against  the 

roots,  or  sink 
Twelve  inches  in  the  mud  and  slime  before  their  eyes 

can  wink. 

But  little  cared  our  gallant  six  for  roots,  or  slime,  or 

mud. 
For   they  were  out   for   liquor  as   a   soldier  is  for 

blood ; 
They  hustled  through  the  forest,  nor  stopped  until 

they  saw 
Biggs,   wrapt    in    contemplation,   beside    his   cabin 

door. 

13 


Klondyke  Ballads 

He  rose  to  greet  his  visitors,  and  ask  them  for  the 

news, 
And  said  he  was  so  lonesome  that  he  always  had  the 

blues ; 
He  hadn't  seen  a  paper  for  eighteen  months,  he 

said. 
And  that  had  been  in  Japanese — a  language  worse 

than  dead. 

They  satisfied  his  thirst  for  news,  then  thought  they 
of  their  own, 

And  Miller  looked  him  in  the  eye  and  gave  a  little 
groan. 

And  all  six  men  across  their  mouths  did  pass  a  sun- 
burnt hand 

In  a  manner  most  deliberate,  which  all  can  under- 
stand. 

''  We  heard  you  kept  a  bar,  good  Biggs,"  the  gentle 

Poet  said, 
<^  And  so  we  thought  we'd  hold  you  up,  and  we  arc 

almost  dead  ! ' ' 

H 


Klondyke  Ballads 

He  said  no  more.     Biggs  understood,   and  thusly 

spoke  to  them 
In   accents  somewhat   British  and  prefixed  with  a 

'^Hem!" 

''The  bar  you*  11  find  a  few  yards  hence  as  up  that 

trail  you  go ; 
I  never  keep  my  liquor  in  the  blooming  'ouse,  you 

know. 
Just  mush  along  and  take  a  drink,  and  when  you  are 

content 
Come  back  and  tell  me,  if  you  can,  who  now  is 

President. ' ' 

They  mushed  along,  those  weary  men,  nor  looked  to 

left  or  right, 
But  thought  of  how  each  cooling  drink  would  trickle 

out  of  sight  j 
And  very  soon  they  found  the  goal  they  came  for 

from  afar — 
A  keg,  half  full  of  water,  in  a  good  old  gravel  bar  ! 


15 


Klondyke  Ballads 


A 


THE  CHE-CHA-KO* 

POOR  che-chd-ko  once  arrived 
At  Dawson  by  the  Yukon  side. 
His  eyes  were  big,  his  boat  was  small, 
Of  outfit  he  had  none  at  all — 

Had  bought  one  in  the  Golden  West, 
But  lost  it  on  the  Chilcoot's  crest ; 
And  lived  so  long  on  beans  and  pork 
That  he  had  hardly  strength  to  walk. 

He  made  his  vessel  good  and  fast 
And  trod  the  muddy  banks  at  last ; 
Then  wandered  through  the  dirty  town 
And  sought  a  place  to  settle  down. 


*  Che-chako — i,  e,^  new-comer — an  Indian  word.  In  the  Klon- 
dyke a  man  was  considered  a  che-cha-ko  until  he  had  seen  the  ice 
leave  the  Yukon. 

i6 


Klondyke  Ballads 

He  wandered  here,  he  wandered  there, 
And  heard  the  husky  miners  swear, 
And  curse  their  luck  and  curse  the  ground 
Wherein  no  gold  dust  they  had  found. 

* '  I  settles  this  yere  matter  now, ' ' 
Said  he,  and  wiped  his  manly  brow. 
'*  I  aint  the  man  to  hang  about 
A  played-out  camp.     I  just  gets  out.*' 

And  then  he  borrowed  pick  and  spade. 
And  very  soon  a  hole  had  made 
Behind  McCarthy's  dancing  hall. 
But  found  no  nuggets,  large  or  small. 

*  *  Gol  dam  the  luck, ' '  he  sadly  said. 
And  scratched  the  foliage  on  his  head ; 
**  I  guess  I'll  make  a  di-rect  line 
Back  home  and  let  these  suckers  mine." 

And  so  he  pawned  his  extra  jeans. 
And  filled  his  boat  with  pork  and  beans ; 
And  ere  the  sun  was  sinking,  he 
Was  drifting  onward  to  the  sea. 
17 


Klondyke  Ballads 


w 


OUR   STOVE 

HEN  we  bought  our  stove  m  Dawson 
We  were  jubilant,  and  thought 
That  we  owned  the  finest  baker 

Two  men  had  ever  bought. 
Said  my  partner,  ''  She's  a  beauty.'* 
'*  She's  a  hummer,  Jack,"  said  I, 
**  And  she'll  burn  all  sorts  of  lumber, 
Whether  wet  wood,  damp,  or  dry." 

Thirty  dollars,  sir,  she  cost  us 

('Tis  enough  to  make  one  weep  !) 

Yet  we  pitied  the  poor  devil 

Who  would  sell  a  stove  .so  cheap. 

And  we  packed  it  to  our  cabin 
On  a  scorching  summer's  day ; 

Sixty  pounds  it  weighed,  plus  stove-pipe- 
Yet  we  sniggered  all  the  way. 


Klondyke  Ballads 

So  that  evening  we  lit  her, 

And  we  watched  our  beauty  burn 
Till  the  heat  within  the  cabin 

Gave  my  partner  there  a  turn — 
Made  him  deathly  sick  at  stomach — 

And  I  scorched  my  only  shirt 
While  I  watched  our  beans  and  bacon 

Lest  our  victuals  should  be  hurt. 

You  bet  she  was  a  hummer  ! 

But  she  hummed  too  much  for  us 
On  those  blazing  days  of  summer, 

And  we'd  stand  outside  and  cuss. 
And  we'd  take  our  grub  and  eat  it 

On  our  porch,  where  likewise  came 
Gay  mosquitoes  singing  anthems ; 

But  the  stove,  sir,  made  us  game. 

**  When  the  winter  comes,  old  chappie. 
Our  stove,"  said  Jack,  *' we'll  bless. 

Think  of  fifty  below  zero  ! ' ' 

And  I  sadly  murmured  :    '*  M'yes." 
19 


Klondyke  Ballads 

So  we  cooked  our  meals,  and  sweated 
While  we  ate  them,  for  we  knew 

In  a  month  or  so  the  weather 
Would  be  cold  enough  for  two. 

When  the  winter  came  our  hummer 

Looked  a  bit  the  worse  for  wear ; 
Her  top  was  sagging  inward 

Which  we  couldn't  well  repair. 
The  damper,  too,  was  cranky, 

And  the  oven  seemed  to  hold 
Some  secret  understanding 

With  our  enemy,  the  cold. 

We  could  fill  that  stove  with  dry  wood. 

We  could  cram  it  up  with  green. 
But  the  shavings  wouldn't  catch,  sir; 

Such  a  stove  we'd  never  seen. 
And  our  bacon  wouldn't  sizzle. 

And  our  coffee  almost  froze ; 
And  we  shivered  up  our  backbones 

And  we  shivered  in  our  toes. 
20 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Our  cabin  was  an  ice  chest, 

And  we  nearly  froze  to  death 
While  we  blew  upon  the  fire 

With  a  semi -frozen  breath, 
And  we  crawled  within  our  blankets, 

Sick  at  heart  and  fain  to  curse. 
Talk  of  suffering  !     No  torture 

Man  devised  was  ever  worse. 

Now  'tis  springtime,  and  we've  purchased 

Another  and  we  trust 
It  will  act  a  little  better. 

For,  to  tell  the  truth,  we're  bust. 
And  if  this  won't  cook  our  victuals — 

Beans  and  bacon,  little  more — 
We  shall  auction  off  our  matches 

And  eat  our  menu  raw. 


21 


Klondyke  Ballads 


w 


THE  SORROWS  OF  HAIRY  DICK 

HEN  Hairy  Dick  had  staked  his  claim 
(Some  fifty  miles  from  Dawson) 
He  limped  to  town — for  he  was  lame- 
To  get  the  same  recorded. 
It  took  him  just  one  year  to  hit 
A  spot  with  any  gold  in  it, 
But  now  he  had  it,  sure. 

So  Hairy  Dick  did  stand  in  line 
Outside  the  Recorder's  Office 

And  thought  of  flowers,  fruits,  and  wine. 
And  other  earthly  follies. 

'Twas  forty-two  degrees  below 

The  while  he  stood  upon  the  snow. 
And  the  merry  wind  blew  strong. 

22 


Klondyke  Ballads 

The  fiftieth  man  was  Hairy  Dick 

Outside  the  Senkler  portal ; 
And  some  of  them  were  feehng  sick 

At  heart,  and  some  at  stomach. 
But  still  they  stood  as  grim  as  Death, 
And  just  as  pale,  and  fought  for  breath 

That  froze  upon  their  beards. 

Now,  Hairy  Dick  had  lily  feet 
Encased  in  sacks  of  gunny  ; 

The  snow,  of  course,  gave  forth  no  heat 
And  they  were  nearly  frozen. 

His  ruby  lips  were  turning  blue ; 

His  nose  and  ears  were  smarting,  too ; 
And  then  he  moved  up  one  ! 

Then  Hairy  Dick  began  to  jump 

In  elephantine  antics. 
And  said  he'd  give  his  summer's  dump 

To  get  his  claim  recorded. 
But  there  were  no  officials  near 
Or  he  had  lost  the  same,  I  fear. 

Then  where  would  he  h^y^  been  ? 
23 


Klondyke  Ballads 

So  Hairy  Dick  just  did  his  best 

To  foster  circulation ; 
He  never  gave  his  feet  a  rest 

For  seven  weary,  hours. 
By  slow  degrees  he  reached  the  door 
Where  hope  is  lost  for  evermore — 

And  then  they  closed  the  office ! 

I  cannot  write  what  Hairy  said 

About  the  poor  officials ; 
His  face,  erst  white,  grew  very  red, 

His  very  blood  was  boiling. 
His  language  was  not  choice,  but  strong ; 
And  all  that  night  he  sang  his  song 

As  he  had  danced  all  day. 

Next  morning  he  awoke  at  three 
And  ate  some  beans  and  bacon. 

Then  hurried  back ;  the  fifteenth  he 
To  wait  for  Mr.  Senkler. 

'Twas  half -past  twelve  before  he  passed 

Benumbed  with  cold  the  door  at  last, 
And  fainted  near  the  stove. 
24 


"  'E's  got  a  fit ;  let's  chuck  'im  out/' 
Thus  cried  the  men  around  him ; 

But  Hairy  gave  a  mighty  shout 
And  consciousness  recovered. 

*'  I'm  in,  and  I  am  in  to  stay," 

He  shrieked,  and  wiped  the  sweat  away 
From  off  his  grimy  forehead. 

By  three  o'clock  had  come  his  turn 
To  plead  before  the  window 

Where  husky  miners  sometimes  learn 
That  there  are  always  others. 

And  Hairy  Dick  was  told  his  claim 

Had  long  ago  been  staked ;  the  same 
Had  also  been  recorded. 

He  spake  no  word,  but  straightway  fell 
And  from  the  room  was  carried ; 

And  even  now  the  miners  tell 
Of  Hairy  Dick's  departure. 

And  one  and  all  maintain  him  smart 

To  own  a  somewhat  damaged  heart 
And  work  it  out  so  quick. 
25 


Klondyke  Ballads 


OMAR  IN  THE  KLONDYKE 

'nr^HIS  Omar  seems  a  decent  chap,  * '  said  Flap- 

^       jack  Dick  one  night, 
When  he  had  read  my  copy  through  and  then  blown 

out  the  Hght. 
**I  ain't  much  stuck  on  poetry,  because  I  runs  to 

news, 
But  I  appreciates  a  man  that  loves  his  glass  of  booze. 


**  And  Omar  here  likes  good  red  wine,  although  he's 

pretty  mum 
On  liquors,  which  is  better  yet,  like  whiskey,  gin,  or 

rum ; 
Perhaps  his  missus  won't  allow  him  things  like  that 

to  touch. 
And  he  doesn't  like  to  own  it.     Well,  I  don't  blame 

Omar  much. 

26 


Klondyke  Ballads 

^^Then  I  likes  a  man  what's  partial  to  the  ladies, 

young  or  old, 
And  Omar  seems  to  seek  'em  much  as  me  and  you 

seek  gold  \ 
I  only  hope  for  his  sake  that  his  wife  don't  learn  his 

game 
Or  she'll  put  a  chain  on  Omar,  and  that  would  be  a 

shame. 

''His  language  is  some  florid,  but  I  guess  it  is  the 
style 

Of  them  writer  chaps  that  studies  and  burns  the  mid- 
night ile ; 

He  tells  us  he's  no  chicken ;  so  I  guess  he  knows 
what's  best. 

And  can  hold  his  own  with  Shakespeare,  Waukeen 
Miller,  and  the  rest. 

*'But  I  hope  he  ain't  a  thinkin'  of  a  trip  to  this 

yere  camp. 
For  our  dancin'   girls  is  ancient,  and  our  liquor's 

somewhat  damp 

27 


Klondyke  Ballads 

By  doctorin'  with  water,  and  we  ain*t  got  wine  at 

all, 
Though  I  had  a  drop  of  porter — but  that  was  back 

last  fall. 

*'  And  he  mightn't  like  our  manners,  and  he  mightn't 

like  the  smell 
Which  is  half  the  charm  of  Dawson  ;  and  he  mightn't 

live  to  tell 
Of    the  acres   of  wild   roses  that   grows  on   every 

street ; 
And  he  mightn't  like  the  winter,  or  he  mightn't  like 

the  heat. 

**  So  I  guess  it's  best  for  Omar  for  to  stay  right  where 

he  is. 
And  gallivant  with  Tottie,  or  with  Flossie,  or  with 

Liz; 
And  fill  himself  with  claret,  and,  although  it  ain't 

like  beer, 
I  wish  he'd  send  a  bottle — just  one  bottle — to  us 

here." 

28 


Klondyke  Ballads 


A  KLONDYKE  LOVE  SONG 

WILL  you  love  me  as  you  loved  me  when  the 
snow  was  on  the  ground 
And  Dawson  was  as  chilly  as  a  tomb  ? 
Will  you  love  me  as  you  loved  me  when  we  heard 
the  dismal  sound 
Of  a  hungry  Siwash  howling  in  the  gloom  ? 
Will  you  love  me  as  you  loved  me  when  the  birds 
had  flown  away 
From  the  forests  of  the  Klondyke,  vast  and  still  ? 
Will  you  love  me  as  you  loved  me  when  we  watched 
the  North -lights  play 
In  the  heavens  when  the  nights  were  long  and  chill  ? 

Will  you  love  me  as  you  loved  me  when  each  hour 
was  a  trial 
And  the  soul  grew  sick  of  sorrow,  sick  of  pain  ? 
Will  you  love  me  as  you  loved  me  when  we  hungered 
for  a  smile 
From  a  sun  we  never  hoped  to  see  again  ? 
29 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Will  you  love  me  as  you  loved  me  when  it  seemed 

we  lived  apart 
From  the  others,  though  imprisoned,  and  were  true  ? 
Will  you  love  me  as  you  loved  me  when  you  told  me 

that  your  heart 
Was  yearning  for  a  love  it  never  knew  ? 

Will  you  love  me  as  you  loved  me  when  we  sat  beside 
the  stove, 
And  the  wind  was  almost  bursting  in  the  door 
Of  the  cabin  where  I  met  you  and  I  told  you  of  my 
love, 
And  you  promised  to  be  mine  for  evermore  ? 
Will  you  love  me  as  you  loved  me  when  your  eyes 
were  wet  with  tears 
And  I  bade  you,  love,  be  patient  with  your  lot  ? 
Will  you  love  me  as  you  loved  me  when  we  meet  in 
later  years 
And  the  trials  of  the  Klondyke  are  forgot  ? 


30 


Klondyke  Ballads 


THE  DAWSON  CITY  BAND 

A  PROMISED  joy  forever  was  the  Dawson  City 
Band, 
The  band  we  all  remember  in  the  spring  of  '  98 ; 
Its  leader  was  a  Hebrew,  long  of  hair  and  deft  of 
hand. 
Good  at  cooking  as  at  music,  though  he  found  it 
out  too  late. 
He  had  learned  to  play  the  fife, 
And  had  risen  so  in  life 
That  he  came  to  be  the  leader  of  the  city  band  in 
Dawson. 

In  the  band  there  was  a  fiddler,  very  tall  and  very  thin. 
Dressed  in  mackinaws  and  top-boots,  down  at  heel 
and  out  at  toe. 
In  appearance  he  was  sober,  and  one  felt  he  could 
not  sin 
Except  when  making  music  on  his  instrument  of 
woe. 

31 


Klondyke  Ballads 

He  was  nurturing  a  cough, 
And,  though  his  friends  would  scoff. 
He  would  tell  them  very  sadly  that  he'd  leave  his 
bones  in  Dawson. 

His  brother  blew  the  cornet.     He  was  broad  and 
deep  of  lung — 
Sported  overalls  and  gumboots  and  a  jack-knife  at 
his  side. 
Had  he  ever  played  in  'Frisco  he  would  surely  have 
been  hung, 
For  his  ears  weren't  built  for  music;  and  though 
he  always  tried 
To  play  his  level  best, 
He  could  handicap  the  rest. 
And  win  by  several  seconds  overall  the  band  in  Dawson. 

Then  a  sickly  individual  crossed  the  Chilcoot  with  a 

flute 

And  a  pair  of  German  stockings  and  a  pound  or 

so  of  beans ; 

And  when  the  bag  was  empty  then  he  hired  out  to  toot 

In  the  hopes  of  charming  nuggets  to  the  pockets 

of  his  jeans. 

32 


Klondyke  Ballads 

An  unfortunate  mishap 
Had  robbed  him  of  his  cap, 
And  he  had  to  march  bareheaded  when  the  band 
paraded  Dawson. 

The  trombone  man  was  husky,  and  his  cheeks  were 
fat  and  red, 
And  his  stomach  was  tremendous,  but  he  lost  it  in 
the  fall ; 
And  the  way  he  played  that  trombone  was  enough  to 
rouse  the  dead. 
But  he  liked  to  earn  his  wages — ^so  he  didn't  mind 
at  all. 
His  legs  were  very  short. 
And  his  clothing  had  been  bought 
Of  the  man  who  was  the  leader  of  the  city  band  in 
Dawson. 

The  last  of  the  musicians  was  the  man  who  beat  the 

drum, 

A  surly  individual  with  the  temper  of  a  goat ; 

He  once  had  been  a  blacksmith,  and  now  he  made 

things  hum, 
3  33 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Although  (he  said  so  proudly)  he  could  never  play 
by  note. 
Although  he  knew  no  fear, 
He  was  always  in  the  rear 
Of  the  gallant  band  that  marched  along  the  dirty 
streets  of  Dawson. 

The  leader  had  an  organ,  of  the  kind  we  love  not 
much, 
And  sometimes   ground  a  solo  and   sometimes  a 
tercet 
With  the  flutist  and  the  drummer;    he  sometimes 
sang  in  Dutch, 
Being  audible  distinctly  in  spite  of  a  sestet. 
Then  he  passed  around  the  plate. 
And  the  miners  thought  it  great, 
And  showered  little  nuggets  on  the  first  real  band  in 
Dawson. 

Every  morn  the  band  was  gathered  near  the  Pioneer 
Saloon 
And  played  for  two  good  hours,  while  the  mining 
magnates  sat 

34 


Klondyke  Ballads 

On  the  edges  of   the  sidewalk  and   encored  every 
^^toon," 
And  once  raised  fifty  dollars  for  the  man  who  had 
no  hat. 
Then  the  band  went  home  to  eat 
And  to  rest  its  tired  feet, 
For  it's  work  to  stand  for  hours  on  the  dusty  streets 
of  Dawson. 


After  dark  the  band  was  cornered  in   the   Oatley 
Sisters'  Hall, 
Where  the  fortune-favored  miner  likes  to  lower 
down  his  drink ; 
Where  the  torn  and  lorn  che-chd-ko  is  invited  to  the 
ball 
By  the  pleasure-loving  lady  who  is  never  known 
to  think. 
There  it  played  till  one  or  two, 
And  the  miners  were  so  few 
That  they  paid  no  more  attention  to  the  sleepy  band 
of  Dawson. 

35 


Klondyke  Ballads 

The  band  took  part  at  weddings ;  it  made  music  at 
a  birth 
When  the  baby  took  to  sleeping  and  gave  it  half  a 
chance. 
It  was  big  on  each  occasion  when  beneath  the  frozen 
earth 
The  miners  left  their  partners  arrayed  in  flannel 
pants ; 
And  men  would  wink  and  say, 
Making  music  seemed  to  pay, 
And  they  tried  to  get  positions  in  the  little  band  of 
Dawson. 

But  the  fiddler  caught  a  fever  and  expired  in  dire  pain, 

Helped  to  heaven  by  a  doctor  from  a  small  New 

England  town. 

Who  gave  him  something  nasty  and  said  he*  d  call  again, 

Although  he  had  no  need  to  when  his  medicine 

was  down; 

For  his  drugs  had  all  got  mixed. 

And  the  fiddler  had  been  fixed, 

And  they  couldn't  find  another  one  in  all  the  town 

of  Dawson. 

36 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Then  the  trombone  man  got  tipsy  and  was  set  to 
sawing  wood, 
And  the  drummer  and  the  leader  had  a  fight  and 
would  not  speak ; 
And  the  man  who  played  the  cornet  thought  the  time 
was  ripe  and  good 
To  skip  with  all  the  profits — so  he  homeward  made 
a  sneak ; 
And  the  flutist  took  a  lay 
On  a  bench  claim  far  away, 
And  'twas  winter  'ere  we  saw  him  begging  grub  again 
in  Dawson. 

So  the  band  became  disbanded,  and  now  of  all  the  six 

But  one  is  making  money — Ikey  Sutro  in  his  store ; 

Where  he  doles  out  dust  to  people  on  their  watches 

or  their  picks. 

And  as  he  ground  the  organ  grinds  the  miners, 

only  more. 

But  the  band  itself  is  gone. 

And  the  loafers,  all  forlorn. 

Whisper  sadly  of  the  hours  when  it  cheered  them  up 

in  Dawson. 

37 


Klondyke  Ballads 

THE  KLONDYKE  MOSQUITO 
HERE  ain't  no  insect  fleeter  than  the  musical 


T 

^     mosquiter 


That  summers  in  the  Klondyke  when  the  snow  is 

off  the  ground ; 
It  can  fly  a  mile  a  minute,  and  a  fallin'  brick  ain't 

in  it 
When  it  strikes  your  little  bald  spot  with  a  sort  of 

rushin'  sound, 
Witharoarin',  snortin',  whizzin',  a  most  onearthly 

sound. 

With  an  instinct  that  is  hellish  it  will  light  upon  and 
relish 
A  pay-streak,  sir,  wherever  your  anatomy  is  bare ; 
And  if  you  try  to  harm  it,  you  only  can  alarm  it. 
For  when  you  think  to  smash  it  the  insect  isn't 

there ; 
And  you  swear  for  many  minutes,  but  the  insect 
isn't  there. 

38 


Klondyke  Ballads 

You  can  measure  it  by  inches,  and  the  boldest  fellow- 
winces 
When  he  hears  it  hummin'  Wagner  in  a  key  that's 
pitched  too  high ; 
And  you  wish  your  skin  was  harder,  for  you  hate  to 
be  a  larder, 
And  you  know  that  when  it's  hungry  it  will  come 

to  you  for  pie — 
For  the  blood  of  us  poor  miners  to  mosquiters  is 
but  pie. 


You  will  never  find  it  yawnin'  though  it  drills  from 
night  to  mornin', 
And  seeks  to  aid  digestion  by  singin'  through  its 
nose ; 
And  its  drill  is  even  sharper  than  the  wits  of  Captain 
Harper 
Or  the  wind  that  every  winter  through  your  lonely 

cabin  blows — 
How  the  miners  curse  the  winter  when  the  wind 
of  heaven  blows ! 

39 


Klondyke  Ballads 

The  mosquiter  bites  you  sleepin* ;  it  will  bite  you 
when  you're  creepin', 
With  a  pack  upon  your  shoulders,  on  a  long  and 
sloppy  trail ; 
It  will  bite  you  when  you're  workin'  ;  it  will  bite 
you  when  you're  shirkin'  ; 
It  will  bite  you  if  you're  husky;  it  will  bite  you 

if  you're  frail. 
All's  one  to  the  mosquiter,  who  is  never,  never 
frail. 


It  is  pitiless,  pernicious,  energetically  vicious. 

But  the  angels  seem  to  love  it,  for  I've  never  killed 
one  yet ; 
And  although  I  ain't  no  hero  I  long  again  for  zero. 
For  the  blamed  mosquiter  gets  it  in  the  neck  them 

days,  you  bet ! 
In  the  neck  the  critter  gets  it,  and  serves  him 
right,  you  bet ! 


40 


o 


Klondyke  Ballads 


A  MINER'S  CHIEF  THOUGHT 

F  what  does  a  miner  think 

When  his  day's  hard  work  is  done? 
Does  he  dream  of  his  girl  at  home  ? 

Does  he  think  of  the  vagrant  sun  ? 

Does  he  think  of  his  mortgaged  farm, 
Or  the  debts  that  he  left  unpaid 

In  the  land  he  forsook  for  one 
Where  seldom  a  cent  is  made  ? 

Not  much.     As  he  smokes  his  pipe 

He  gives  his  head  a  rub, 
And  schemes  how  to  raise  the  wind 

Enough  for  his  next  month's  grub. 


41 


Klondyke  Ballads 


PIMPLY  PETE 

PIMPLY  PETE  was  a  sickly  cuss, 
He  never  was  well,  and  he  sometimes  was  wuss ; 
And  one  day  he  sighed  and  he  said  to  us, 
**I'm  goin'  to  die,'*  says  he. 

We  tried  to  jolly  poor  Pimply  some. 
But  he  wouldn't  be  jollied ;  and  we  was  dumb 
When  he  said,  '*I'm  goin'  to  kingdom  come 
For  to  get  a  fair  lay,"  says  he. 

''This  life  is  a  farce,"  poor  Pimply  said, 
''And  our  claims  are  oncertain  until  we're  dead ; 
And  only  then  do  we  find  a  bed 
That  suits  our  bones,"  says  he. 

"I'm  sick  of  sufferin'  day  and  night 
From  cold  that  freezes  and  winds  that  bite  j 
For  nearly  a  year  I  ain't  felt  right. 
And  now  I'll  quit,"  says  he. 
42 


Klondyke  Ballads 

''When  I  was  younger  I  heard  it  told 
That  the  streets  of  heaven  is  paved  with  gold, 
And  Fm  going  up  there,  before  I'm  old. 
To  strike  for  a  lay,'*  says  he. 


'*  This  Klondyke  here  is  a  low  down  bluff, 
And  the  way  we's  treated  is  pretty  rough ; 
But  heaven,  I  guess,  is  sure  enough, 
And  I'll  give  it  a  try,"  says  he. 


'*  I've  led  a  pretty  oncertain  life — 
But  then  I  had  an  oncertain  wife ; 
And  that's  as  bad  as  a  butcher-knife 
Between  the  ribs,"  says  he. 


*'  But  now  she's  dead,  and  I  guess  she's  found 
Some  handsome  angel  to  take  her  round 
And  show  her  the  sights ;  so  I'll  sleep  sound — 
Thank  God  for  that,"  says  he. 

43 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Then  Pimply  kept  infernally  still 
And  we  saw  as  how  he  was  pretty  ill, 
But  we  says,  **  You'll  live  if  you  has  the  will." 
*^I  ain't  the  will,"  says  he. 


And  then  he  shivered  from  heel  to  nose 
And  looked  at  us  till  we  almost  froze ; 
And  then  he  turned  up  his  eyes  and  toes 
And  never  a  word  said  he. 


A  doctor  came  and  examined  his  juice, 
And  said  that  flapjacks  had  settled  his  goose. 
We  planted  him  there,  behind  that  spruce. 
And  wrote  on  a  stake,  wrote  we : 


'<  Here  lies  the  ruins  of  Pimply  Pete, 
Who  suffered  from  flapjacks  and  chilly  feet  j 
We  hopes  he's  gone  where  he  gets  some  heat, 
For  he  was  a  brick,  was  he." 

44 


Klondyke  Ballads 


THE  LAST  SACK  OF  FLOUR 

J'T^IS  the  last  sack  of  flour 
A     Left  standing  alone ; 
Its  expensive  companions 

Are  eaten  and  gone. 
Their  shrouds  in  the  corner 

Awaken  vain  sighs, 
As  I  ponder  o*er  biscuits, 
O'er  doughnuts  and  pies. 

'Tis  the  last  sack  of  flour — 

A  small  one  at  that ; 
And  I  fear  I  shall  die  like 

A  famishing  rat. 
For  'twill  cost  fifty  dollars 

In  black  sand  and  dust 
To  purchase  a  new  one — 

And  oh,  I  am  bust ! 

4S 


Klondyke  Ballads 


HOW  WILLIE  LEARNED  TO  SWEAR 
HEN   Willie   left   the   homestead  where  his 


^  ^       parents  did  abide, 


And  braved  the  dreaded  Chilcoot  and  the  terrors  of 

''inside,'' 
A  slender  lad  he  was,  sir,  a  youth  most  primitive. 
With  neither  bones  nor  character  and  just  too  good 

to  live. 


His  parents  hugged  him  fondly  when  the  engine 

gave  a  shriek. 
Thus  suggesting  very  kindly  that  they'd  better  make 

a  sneak ; 
And  Willie's  voice  grew  husky  when  he  bade  them 

au  re  voir 
And  departed  for  Seattle  in  a  tourist  sleeping  car. 
46 


Klondyke  Ballads 

At  the  stations  many  maidens  came  to  see  the  eager 

crew 
Who   were   leaving   for   the   Klondyke   in   apparel 

strange  and  new ; 
And  one  and  all  saw  Willie,  blue-eyed  Will,  with 

cheeks  aflame, 
And   one   and   all   sighed   fondly   and    murmured, 

'MVhat  a  shame  !'* 

A  minister  who  saw  him  placed  a  hand  upon  his 

head. 
Saying  mildly  as  he  did  so,    *'When  you  lie  upon 

your  bed 
In  the  Klondyke,  may  the  angels  keep  you  safe  and 

free  from  harm. 
And  be  sure,  in  buying  blankets,  that  the  same  are 

good  and  warm. ' ' 

Little  Willie  reached  Seattle  and  commenced  to  spend 

his  cash 
On  bacon,  beans  and  flour,  and  evaporated  trash ; 

47 


Klondyke  Ballads 

On  woollen  goods  and  overalls,  on  hardware,  drugs, 

and  furs, 
Mosquito  netting,  rubber  boots,  and  five  enormous 

curs. 


These  canines  caused  him  trouble  till  he  chained 

them  'neath  the  hatch. 
And  left  them  there  to  meditate,  and,  very  soon,  to 

scratch ; 
And  then  he  bribed  a  steward  to  feed  them  twice  a 

day. 
Then  hied  him  to  his  stuffy  berth  and  moaned  the 

time  away. 

He  had  a  fellow -sufferer,  and  very  soon  there  sprang 
The  comradeship  between  them  of  men  who  are  to 

hang; 
And  when  they  got  to  Skaguay  they  were  partners, 

and  each  swore 
None  ever  knew  true  partnership,  such  partnership, 

before. 

48 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Of  the  trip  across  the  summit,  of  the  hardships  of 

the  trail, 
I  say  nothing,  but  that  Willie  very  often  would  turn 

pale 
When  he  heard  his  partner  swearing  like  a  demon  in 

the  sleet — 
Heard  him  curse  the  trembling  canines — saw  him 

argue  with  his  feet. 

Little  Willie  kept  his  temper,  but  that  was  all  he 

kept; 
For  his  partner  stole  his  outfit  on  Lake  Bennett  as 

he  slept, 
And  Willie  had  to  purchase,  at  a  most  unheard  of 

price, 
Beans  and  bacon  to  subsist  on  till  he  reached  his 

Paradise. 

Still  the  dogs  had  not  been  stolen,  but  they  missed 

a  master's  hand, 

And   would   soldier   in  the   traces   in   a  way   dogs 

understand ; 

4  49 


Klondyke  Ballads 

They  would  rend  their  leather  harness  or  would  ride 

upon  the  sled, 
And  Willie,  ever  patient,  often  wished  them  frozen 

dead. 

At  last  his  heart  grew  bitter  as  he  pondered  night 

and  day 
How  his  trusted  partner  fooled  him,  and  at  last  it 

made  him  say 
When  the  dogs  were  extra  lazy,   ''It's  ashamed  of 

you  I  am, 
You  naughty  little  doggies. ' '     Then  he  blushed  and 

muttered,  ' '  Damn  ! ' ' 

But  that  *'  damn  "  meant  Willie's  downfall ;  for  the 

dogs  would  cock  an  ear 
When  they  heard  the  word  familiar,  which  filled 

their  souls  with  fear ; 
For  from  *'  damn  "  it  grew  to ,  and  from 

even  worse, 

And  before  young  Willie  knew  it,  he  had  mastered 

how  to  curse. 

50 


Klondyke  Ballads 


THE  YUKON  PIONEER 

A  MIGHTY  man  (if  the  truth  be  known)  is  the 
Yukon  Pioneer — 
The  man  who  trudged  o'er  the  ice  and  snow  in 
ninety-six  or  seven ; 
But  terribly  small  (let  the  truth  be  said)  are  the 
chances  he  takes  to  clear 
The  fence  that  partitions  the  sheep  from  the  goats 
in  the  outer  fields  of  heaven. 
If  I  were  a  Pioneer  I'd  pray 
For  the  good  of  my  soul  by  night  and  day — 
I  would ! 

'Tis  not  that  the  Yukon  Pioneer  is  wicked  or  prone 
to  crime ; 
He  is  better  by  far  than  is  many  a  man  with  a 
chance  to  go  the  gait ; 
But  the  lies  that  slip  from  his  frozen  lips  are  worse 
than  the  lies  that  Time 
51 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Has  listened  to  all  these  centuries,  while  grinding 
his  teeth  with  hate. 
Why,  the  sun  in  disgust  forsakes  the  sky- 
When  the  Pioneers  start  in  to  lie — 
It  does ! 

The  story  is  told  of  a  Pioneer  who  never  could  tell 
a  lie; 
But  'tis  said,  in  extenuation,  by  those  who  knew 
him  best 
That  had  he  a  tongue  to  talk  with  (he  had  cancer, 
by-the-by) 
He  had  certainly  been  awarded  a  medal  by  all  the 
rest. 
For  'tis  held  'mong  all  good  Pioneers 
That  truth  is  a  subject  fit  for  tears — 
Just  think  ! 

They  sit  in  the  gloom  of  the  wintry  months  and  lie 
about  God  and  man  ; 
They  lie  about  grub,  and  they  lie  about  dogs; 
they  lie  about  heat  and  cold ; 
52 


Klondyke  Ballads 

They  lie  about  mortgaged  homes  and  farms;  they 
lie  as  they  only  can  ; 
They  lie  about  strikes  and  fool   stampedes   and 
claims  that  contain  no  gold. 
They  sooner  would  lay  them  down  in  death 
Than  pollute  the  air  with  a  truthful  breath — 
That's  what. 


Oh,  great  and  grand  were  the  Pioneers  who  con- 
quered the  Golden  West, 
And  we  wish  we  had  lived  in  the  good  old  days 
when  they  were  in  their  youth ; 
But  greater  by  far  are  the  Pioneers  who  braved  the 
Chilcoot's  crest. 
And  cursed  their  dogs,  and  their  partners,  too, 
and  never  can  tell  the  truth — 
Who  give  no  thought  for  the  good  of  their 

souls. 
Though  the  Devil  makes  merry  and  orders 
more  coals. 

Ha,  ha ! 

53 


Klondyke  Ballads 


THAT  FIRST  FLAPJACK 

WHEN  I  made  my  maiden  flapjack  I  was  still  a 
tender  youth, 
Inexperienced  and  reckless,  caring  little  what  we 
ate 
If  it  only  stilled  our  hunger,  which,  to  tell  the  very 
truth, 
Like  the  poor  was  ever  with  us,  and  would  never, 
never  wait. 


When  we  landed  first  in  Dawson  we  purchased  our 
bread. 
But  the  habit  was  expensive — so  I  thought  I'd 
save  our  dust 
By  making  tasty  flapjacks,  for  as  Bill,  my  partner, 
said, 
*'  If  you  mix  'em  good  and  plenty  we  can  eat  'em 
till  we  bust." 

54 


Klondyke  Ballads 

When  I  asked  him  for  directions  I  found  that  all  he 
knew 
Was  contained  in  that  one  sentence,  and  that  I 
must  depend 
Upon  my  ingenuity  to  pull  me  safely  through, 

And  so  construct  a  flapjack  that  would  keep  him 
still  my  friend. 

So  I  took  five  cups  of  water  and  a  cup  of  *'  Price's 
Best," 
And  stirred  the  mess  with  water  till  my  strength 
was  wellnigh  spent ; 
Then  I  salted  it  profusely,  and  put  it  to  the  test 
In  the  largest  of  our  fry-pans,  and  it  looked  just 
like  cement. 

The  stove  was  hot  as  Hades,  and  while  the  minutes 
passed 
My  heart  was  beating  wildly,  for  I  feared  the  thing 
might  burn ; 
And  when  I  tried  to  shift  it  I  found  it  anchored  fast. 
For,  having  put  no  grease  in,  the  flapjack  wouldn't 
turn. 

55 


Klondyke  Ballads 

But  I  dug  around  it  gently,  though  I  injured  it  a  lot, 
And  then  prepared  to  flap  it  as  I'd  seen  some 
miners  do ; 
Then  I  grabbed  the  pan  adroitly,  but  the  handle 
was  so  hot 
That  I  dropped  it  on  the  instant  and  my  smoking 
flapjack,  too. 

With  a  spoon  we  scooped  the  remnants  from  the  table 
and  the  floor, 
And  placed  them  in  the  fry-pan  with  a  little  bit 
of  lard, 
And  they  mixed  in  perfect  friendship,  and  I  let  them 
bake  some  more 
While  I  waited  several  minutes,  cloth  in  hand,  and 
breathing  hard. 

Then  I  grabbed  again  the  fry-pan,  and  I  tossed  that 
flapjack  high — 
'*Too  high,"  as  Bill  said,  sadly,  though  the  roof 
withstood  the  shock, 

56 


Klondyke  Ballads 

And  the  falling  flapjack  hit  him  fair  and  squarely  in 
the  eye, 
While  I  looked  at  him  astonished,  for  he  stood  it 
like  a  rock. 

Well,  I  scraped  it  off  his  shoulder,  and  I  placed  it 
in  the  pan 
And  let  it  bake  some  minutes  till  the  underside 
was  brown ; 
Then  the  beans  and  tea  were  ready — so  the  two  of 
us  began 
To  compare  our  maiden  flapjack  with  the  bread 
they  sold  in  town. 

**It's  pretty  hard,''    Bill  muttered,    ''and  I  guess 
we'll  need  the  axe 
To  break  it  into  pieces,  but  that's  healthy,  I've 
heard  tell; 
And  the  stuff  we  got  in  Dawson  was  more  like  dough 
or  wax. 
And  this  will  keep  our  teeth  sharp,  and  be  some 
fun  as  well. " 

57 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Bill  always  was  good -hearted,  and  he  acted  very  kind 

About  my  first  day's  cooking,  and  said  some  pretty 

things 

About  my  handling  flour  which  I  cannot  call  to  mind. 

Except  that  beans  and  flapjacks  was  fodder  fit  for 

kings. 

Then  Bill  he  took  the  hammer  and  he  broke  in  little 
squares 
The  flapjack,  and  we  soaked  it  many  minutes  in 
our  tea ; 
And  we  ate  it,  every  morsel,  for  we  always  ate  like  bears. 
And  Bill  said  he  enjoyed  it  and  it  could  not  better 
be. 

That  was  many  years  ago,  sir,  and  since  that  time 
and  now 
I've  made  a  million  flapjacks,  and  the  hair  from 
off  my  head 
Has  fallen  in  the  fry-pan  with  the  moisture  from  my 

brow. 
And  my  patient  Klondyke  partner  is  silent — ^being 
dead. 

58 


Klondyke  Ballads 

But  though  I  go  on  living  till  Bill  has  grown  his 
wings, 
The  day  I  made  that  flapjack  I  shall  never,  sir, 
forget ; 
I'll  remember  how  he  praised  it,  and  called  it  food 
for  kings, 
Then  broke  it  with  his  hammer,  and  ate  it  up, 
you  bet  1 


59 


Klondyke  Ballads 


A 


SOUR  GRAPES 

H,  tell  us  not  of  lamb  and  greens, 
Potatoes,  pies,  and  porter ; 

We'd  rather  dine  off  pork  and  beans 
Washed  down  with  nice  snow  water. 


And  tell  us  not  of  feather  beds 
Wherein  a  man  might  stifle ; 

On  good,  hard  bunks  we  lay  our  heads 
And  deem  white  sheets  a  trifle. 


And  tell  us  not  of  pretty  girls 
And  charming  conversations ; 

We'd  sooner  talk  with  Swedes  and  churls 
About  our  dogs  and  rations. 
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Klondyke  Ballads 

And  tell  us  not  about  the  sun, 
Nor  prate  of  bees  and  flowers ; 

This  semi -gloominess  is  fun — 
We  work  in  it  for  hours. 


We  never  want  to  hear  the  news, 
For  we  are  always  aching 

For  some  old  fossil's  foolish  views 
On  bedrock,  or  on  baking. 


We  like  to  starve,  we  love  to  freeze, 
We  yearn  to  catch  the  fever ; 

But  when  we  quit  this  lovely  place 
We  quit,  you  bet,  to  leave  her ! 


6i 


Klondyke  Ballads 


APPRECIATION  IN  DAWSON 

THE  show  had  been  a  good  one  and  the  miners 
were  in  tears 
And  wiped  their  weeping  foreheads  on  their  yellow 
mackinaws ; 
They  whistled  and  they  shouted ;  they  indulged  in 
mighty  cheers, 
And  almost  broke  the  floor  in  as  they  stamped 
their  wild  applause. 


Then  they  stood  in  knots  together  while  the  leading 
lady  came 
To  the  front,  and  curtsied  slowly  till  she  almost 
touched  the  ground ; 
And  the  miners  got  excited,  and  they  called  her  by 
her  name 
Till  the  lady  danced  on  tip-toe  and  you  couldn't 
hear  a  sound. 

62 


Klondyke  Ballads 

And  while  she  pirouetted  up  and  down  and  to  and 

fro, 
And  the  orchestra  of  seven  scraped  and  thumped 

and  tootle-toohed, 
The  miners  talked  together  and  considered  how  to 

show 
Their  unqualified  approval  of  a  Juliet  in  the  nude. 

They  talked  for  many  minutes;  then  they  pushed 
toward  the  front 
(Having  silenced  first  the  music)  a  miner  known 
as  Russ — 
Roarin'  Russ,  of  Circle  City — who  gave  a  sort  of 
grunt 
As  he  cleared  his  throat  for  action,  and  addressed 
the  lady  thus : 

^^My  gal,  there's  no  denyin'  that  you  saveys  how 
to  act, 
And  your  Jooliet  was  perfect  as  to  actin'  and  to 
shape ; 

63 


Klondyke  Ballads 

And  as  long  as  you  is  hired  you  can  chalk  it  down 
a  fact 
That  the  Pioneer  Theayter  will  never  wear  no 
crape. 


**  We  ain't  so  mighty  friendly  to  your  little  Rome-o, 

For  he  makes  too  bloomin'  easy  with  a  lady,  so 

we  think ; 

But  you  was  just  a  hummer,  and  durin*  all  the  show 

We    never   took   to   yawnin*    or   to   orderin*    of 

drink. 


**  We're  sorry  that  the  parson  made  a  bungle  of  his 
work, 
And  the  liquor  was  too  heavy  for  a  lady  of  your 
class ; 
And  we're  sorry  for  your  cousin  who  was  killed  by 
Romy's  dirk — 
Yet  you  couldn't  but  expect  it,  for  that  Romy  is 
an  ass. 

64 


Klondyke  Ballads 

''  Now,  what  we*ve  been  a  talkin'  of  is  how  to  show 
you  best 
That  we  like  your  style  and  figure,  and  we  decided, 
fust, 
That  as  a  gal  is  human,  and  must  eat  and  be  well 
dressed. 
We  couldn't  do  no  better  than  to  offer  you  some 
dust. 


''  Then  we  knew  as  how  in  'Frisco  lady  actors  whom 
one  knows 
Gets  violets  or  something  with  a  smell  that's  good 
and  strong. 
But  in  Dawson  there's  no  flowers,  and  the  bottled 
scents  is  froze — 
So  we  thought  of  something  better  and  we  hope 
we  ain't  done  wrong. 

' '  You  know,  I  guess,  by  this  time  that  vegetables  be 
A  quite  onheard  of   luxury  in  this  yere  mining 
hell; 

5  65 


IClondyke  Ballads 

Nor  love  nor  money  buys  'em,  nor  pull,  and  so,  you 
see, 
They're  worth  much  more  than  roses  and  healthier 
as  well. 

^  ^  We   cannot   get   you   flowers ;    but   my   partner, 
Lousetown  Joe, 
Has  a  crate  of  fresh  potatoes,  and  we  offers  you  a 
third ; 
And  here's  the  sack  of  gold  dust,  and  we're  mighty 
glad  to  know 
That   you'll  never  get  the  scurvy — for,   Jooliet, 
you're  a  bird." 

Then  the  lady  dropped  a  curtsey  and  grabbed  the 
little  sack, 
And  said  that  Mr.  Tybalt  (better  known  as  Pot- 
luck  Pete) 
Would  fetch  the  spuds  to-morrow;  then  she  pirou- 
etted back 
And  the  miners  yelled  together  until  they  struck 

the  street. 

66 


Klondyke  Ballads 


IN  WINTER 

BEANS  and  bacon  thrice  a  day, 
Such  is  our  diet ; 
We  could  live  off  better  fare 

Had  we  dust  to  buy  it ; 
But  our  sacks  are  void  of  gold, 

No  one  gives  us  credit ; 
We  are  in  a  pretty  fix, 
But  we  grin  and  bear  it. 

Fruit  is  coining  to  an  end, 

Ditto  our  flour ; 
Once  a  week  we  hit  our  mush — 

Mush,  the  source  of  power. 
Neither  milk  nor  sugar  now 

Graces  our  table ; 
Once  we  had  a  stock  of  meats — 

Now  we  read  a  label. 
67 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Sunday  is  our  day  for  spuds, 

Coffee  comes  on  Friday ; 
Thursdays  we  partake  of  rice, 

Tuesday  was  our  pie  day. 
He  who  mentions  butter  now 

Has  to  wash  the  dishes ; 
Still  we  hope  to  realize 

Some  day  our  wishes. 


68 


Klondyke  Ballads 


COOKING  IN  THE  KLONDYKE 


•*  '""P^HERE'S  something  burning  on  the  stove," 
The  first  che-chd-ko  said ; 


T 


*'  It  doesn't  smell  like  bacon, 
So  I  guess  it  is  the  bread." 

*<The  bread  be  d ,"  the  cook  replied 

(A  mighty  cook  was  he), 
*'  I  haven't  baked  the  stuff  as  yet ; 

* '  Perhaps  it  is  the  tea  ! '  * 

**  The  tea  can't  burn,  you  stupid  ass," 

His  partner  made  reply. 
**  I'll  bet  you've  spoilt  beyond  repair 

My  baking  powder  pie." 

**The  pie  you  brag  about,"  said  cook, 
**  Was  baked  this  early  morn. 

I  tried  a  piece  of  it  and  wished 
I  never  had  been  born." 
^9 


Klondyke  Ballads 

The  first  che-chd-ko  puffed  his  pipe 

And  thought  him  what  to  say. 
''  God  knows,"  said  he,   *^  that  your  pies  are 

Far  heavier  than  clay." 


'*  You  eat  them  all  the  same,"  said  cook, 
**  And  half  my  share  as  well. 

But  something's  burning — that  is  sure  ; 
I  know  it  by  the  smell." 


''  I  say  it  is  the  bacon,  sir  !" 

' '  And  I  say  it  is  not ! '  * 
The  cook  then  ope'd  the  oven  door, 

And  swore,  for  it  was  hot. 


''  Ye  gods  !"  he  yelled,  *'  ^tis  one  on  you. 

Your  gum  boots  I  espy  ! " 
The  first  che-chd-ko  held  his  peace — 

He'd  put  them  there  to  dry  ! 
70 


Klondyke  Ballads 


BILL  McGEE 

••A  RE  you  takin*  any  men  on,  boss?"  asked 
•^     Billy  J.  McGee 

Of  the  man  who  ran  Red  Murphy's  claim,  Domin- 
ion 33. 

The  foreman  sized  the  speaker  up,  then  unto  him 
says  he : 

*' You  look  a  husky,  skookum  man,  so  you  can  work 
for  me. 

And  you'll  find  that  I  am  pretty  square  if  me  and 
you  agree." 

Now,  Bill  was  only  five  foot  high  but  broader  than  a 

bear; 
His  legs  looked  thick,   his  back  looked  broad,  his 

shoulders  good  and  square ; 
He  had  a  D  Profundis  voice^  accounted  somewhat 

rare ; 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Hi?  hands  were  hid,  his  arms  looked  long,  as  likewise 

did  his  hair, 
But  in  his  forehead  there  were  lines  that  spoke  of 

constant  care. 


So  Bill  McGee  first  got  his  job  and  then  he  said : 

''I  say. 
You've  took  me  on  to  work  for  you,  but  how  about 

my  pay  ? 
I  ain't  the  sort  to  work  blamed  hard,  and  then  be 

told  some  day 
There  ain't  no  money  in  the  dump  and  I  can  walk 

away. 
That's  what  three  fellows  had  to  do  on  27  A." 


The  foreman  rolled  his  plug  around,  then  looked 

Bill  in  the  eye. 
*'  You're  all  right.  Bill,"  he  says  to  him,    ''  I  likes  a 

man  what's  spry. 

72 


Klondyke  Ballads 

This  33*s  a  dead  sure  thing,  gumboot  me  if  I  lie; 
There's  fifty  thousand  in  that  dump — ^just  take  a  pan 

aad  try/' 
Bill  took  a  pan  and  found  a  chunk.     He  dropped  it 

with  a  sigh. 

When  Bill  McGee  began  to  work  they  set  him  haul- 
ing wood, 

But  every  man  upon  the  claim  hauled  more  than 
Billy  could ; 

He  slipped  and  stumbled  on  the  snow,  and  when  at 
last  he  stood 

He  almost  froze  himself  to  death,  and,  though  that 
isn't  good, 

The  foreman  swore  at  Bill  McGee  and  only  hoped 
he  would. 


So  Bill  was  set  to  sawing  logs,  and  he  sawed  a  log  or 

two. 
But   the   third   one   always    stumped    him,    for   he 

couldn't  saw  it  through ; 
73 


Klondyke  Ballads 

The  cold  attacked  his  fingers  and  his  lips  looked 

pretty  blue, 
And  the  foreman  got  excited  and  told  him  who  was 

who, 
And  asked  him  what  he  lived  for,  and,  pray,  what 

could  he  do  ? 

Then  Bill  next  tried  the  windlass,  but  he  didn't  try 

it  long ; 
For  though  his  arms  looked  powerful  and  though  his 

back  looked  strong 
He  couldn't  hoist  the  bucket,  and  the  foreman  sang 

a  song 
(Though  the  words  weren't  very  proper)  and  asked 

him  what  was  wrong. 
And  drove  him  from  the  windlass  and  wished  him  in 

Hong-Kong. 

But  the  foreman  was  a  Christian,  although  he  had  to 

kick; 
So  he  sent  Bill  down  the  ladder  with  instructions 

how  to  pick ; 

74 


Klondyke  Ballads 

But  a  rung  gave  way  beneath  him  and  he  landed  like 

a  brick, 
And  they  put  him  in  the  bucket  and  hauled  him  up 

darned  quick, 
But  Billy's  neck  was  broken  and  he  was  looking  sick. 

They  laid  him  in  an  outhouse  where  the  dead  man 

quickly  froze ; 
And  the  friendly  foreman  muttered  as  he  sadly  blew 

his  nose : 

'*  This  life  is  d uncertain  and  pretty  full  of  woes, 

And  the  men  who  die  the  quickest  is  generally  those 
Built  powerful,  like  Bill  here,  whose  days  is  at  a 

close. ' ' 

''I  liked  him  good  and  plenty,"  one  burly  miner 

said, 
As  he  drummed  his  fingers  lightly  on  the  dead  man's 

icy  head. 
**  He  never  ate  no  butter  on  his  flapjacks  or  his  bread. 
And  never  used  no  sugar — I  took  his  share  instead. 
But,  boys,  he  never  once  ondressed  before  he  went 

to  bed!" 

75 


Klondyke  Ballads 

The  miners  thought  it  funny  and  shook  their  heads 

thereat, 
Till  he  who  praised  the  dead  man  removed  his  mitts 

and  hat. 
'^  We'll  take  'em  off  him  this  time,"  he  said,  and 

then  he  spat, 
^^  We  haven't  got  the  linen  for  to  wind  around  a  cat, 
But  we'll  sew  him  up  in  sacking  and  let  it  go  at  that. ' ' 

And  so  they  took  Bill's  clothes  off,  and  none  of  them 

could  speak 
At  first  from  sheer  amazement  at  what  they  called 

his  ^' cheek." 
The  foreman  broke  the  silence  :    * '  That  Bill,  there, 

was  a  freak. 
And  if  he  still  was  living  I'd  label  him  a  sneak. 
I  always  had  to  wonder  why  the  fellow  was  so  weak." 

From  off   the   corpse  before   them   they  took  two 

mackinaws. 
Three  shirts  and  heavy  undervests  and  four  thick 

pair  of  drawers ; 

76 


Klondyke  Ballads 

Three  pair  of  canvas  overalls  and  socks  it  seems  by 

scores  \ 
And  when  they  got  to  bedrock  they  almost  broke  in 

roars 
Of  laughter  at  the  foreman,  who  thought  they  had 

good  cause. 

For  Bill  was  over  sixty  and  was  made  of  bone  and 

skin, 
And  the  miners  when  they  eyed   him  had  to  turn 

aside  and  grin. 
His  arms  were  like  two  matches ;  each  leg  was  like  a 

pin — 
You  could  almost  look  right  through  him  he  was  so 

very  thin, 
And  for  such  a  man  to  labor  it  really  seemed  a  sin. 

But  they  covered  him  with  sacking  sewed  as  neat  as 

neat  could  be, 
And  they  fixed  him  up  for  shipment  to  his  friends 

across  the  sea. 

n 


Klondyke  Ballads 

And  the  foreman  muttered  softly  :   ''If  there's  a  fool 

it's  me, 
For  I  was  made  a  fool  of  by  that  there  Bill  McGee ; 
But  now  he's  dead  forever — so  I've  the  laugh  on 

he." 


78 


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